Edwin empathized with what Warren was going through, but his situation had been quite a bit better. He hadn’t crawled off to a free rehabilitation center in the inner city, aching for a fix, crying from the pain, begging for a break and a bed. He had been out of pharmacy school for two years at that point, and he had a good job at a state hospital. He could afford to check into a nice clinic. Not as nice as the ones the celebrities used, but one that kept him like a prisoner for twenty-one days. Even though he had wanted to be there, had checked himself in, he’d fought it. Every single day. Fought it like Warren was fighting it now.
“You know you can do this,” Edwin said softly. He took Warren’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He only wanted Warren to know he was there.
“I can’t…I can’t keep…Doc, I can’t…”
“You can do it, Warren. After this, you can stay clean. You get a job. You help Angela get clean. You can do it.”